New Life Eve
by JamesTKent
Summary: Variation on a theme, for the "12 Days of CLois" New Years Eve challenge. It's my first SuperFic, so please, be gentle but thorough -- I want to know what works and what doesn't


The majestic figure that swept across the city looked remote, powerful, and unique. His presence gave millions comfort, reassurance and a sense of peace.

Too bad he had so little peace himself. His heart beat a tarantella that drowned out all but the three heartbeats he always knew: Martha's, Lois', and Jason's.

As crowds gathered across the globe to celebrate the incoming year, one lonely man kept vigil. Oh, sure: Ollie, Bart, A.C, and others were covering their turf, but with his speed and strength, there were things only he could do. The team on board the International Space Station had already needed him to straighten an armature that was bent by a meteoroid (luckily one that was not growing green)

. . . and the one thing he couldn't do for himself.

It was sometimes said that Superman loved the whole world. He did. Lois denied loving him, in his hearing – that hurt – but recognized he had to love. He needed to love! Jor-El said he could not set one mortal above all the others, could not love and be loved in and of and for himself. Yet the same predisposition for love that led a doomed scientist and his wife to place their only son on a path to salvation even as their planet exploded around them ran through his veins.

. . . that hurt.

Kal-El stayed near Metropolis as winter's sun slid toward the horizon, but in old tradition, caught the last light of the year's last sunset to fill him with its light, before addressing the midnight of the year.

He had decided, at last, to defy his father.

As the sun set, though, he sank through the snowy clouds toward a certain globe-topped building . . . and hoped, and prayed, this year could be different. Since his return, discovering that he and Lois had a son, who was already beginning to show his heritage, connected him to this world even more directly than ever before.

He had to defy his father.

He was picking Lois up at the office. Richard had left some months before – unable to compete with memory, much less a certain blue-spandex-clad presence.

He stopped atop the roof, to change – for once, not into an ill-fitting suit, but a nicely tailored tux designed to hint at his athletic shape, and perhaps clue Lois into to some hidden recollections . . . carefully.

He entered the slowly-clearing newsroom, to find Lois still at her desk, pounding madly away on the latest scandal surrounding the departing President's corrupt administration. Her evening gown was on the coat hook next to her desk.

"(Ahem) . . . Lois . . .?"

"OH! Clark! You startled me." She whipped around quickly, and did a double take when she caught a glance at his nicely-turned-out form. "Wow! You clean up nice!" was all she could say. She could almost remember him looking that good, but couldn't recall when.

"Lois, we have reservations at Centennial House in 45 minutes. It's time you finished up!" The glittering ball being hosted by Oliver Queen at the immense new ballroom and restaurant at the top of Centennial Park's new landmark hotel was THE ticket of the night, and Clark had traded on his long acquaintance with Oliver for better seats than those they'd gotten as representatives of the "Superman Foundation".

"I'll be right with you, Smallville – keep your bow tie on." True to her word, and defying every convention, she was out of the ladies' room, freshened up, touched up, and arrayed in a stunning creation that shaded from sky blue at the hem to indigo over one shoulder, and draped, enhanced and adored Lois' exquisite form from floor to shoulder.

Clark, momentarily dumbfounded, could only gargle, "Um, let's go, then!"

Lois cellphone chose that moment to pipe up with the theme to "SpongeBob SquarePants", which could only mean Jason was calling. She answered, and was a bit dismayed to find out that Jason wanted to talk to "Mr. Clark."

He took the phone from her, and Jason's little-boy voice was heard whispering at the other end, where he was staying with Lois' mother, " . . . are you going to ask her AND tell her tonight, Daddy?"

Clark turned bright red, and said "Jason?!?!?""

"Don' worry – I kin keep a seekrit, honest. I love you, Daddy. Byebye." . . . and he hung up.

Lois looked quizzically at Clark, "What was THAT all about?"

"Nevermind. Your son is too perceptive, Lois. He wanted to know if I was going to kiss you at midnight."

The taxi ride to the hotel was quiet, yet intimate. Clark and Lois' relationship had really evolved in the past few months, yet there was still . . . tension. He still didn't know quite where he fit in her life, and she was still figuring out where she fit in the world: single mother, star reporter, and an as-yet-undefined yet blossoming development with Kal-El.

Tonight would be the night Clark vowed to declare both himself and his intent.

* * * *

Oliver Queen knew what Clark was planning, and he plotted to improve his chances of success. Clark and Lois had their own quiet table near the exit to the balcony/terrace. There were champagne and birds of paradise flowers on their table – the only birds of paradise in the whole place. On purpose. He'd thought about placing their table on a pink bearskin rug, but decided that was too much.

He had had the hall decorated in sheets of silvery fabric and Swarovski ornaments, so that Lois would be treated to shimmers of crystalline light.

Clark, on the other hand, was unaware of Oliver's attempts to push things along, and was a bit . . . flummoxed.

As they entered the ballroom, Lois just gasped – the glittering crowd, the soft orchestra, and the few of Metropolis beyond the darkened apron of the park, were pure magic.

"um, Lois . . ." a shy voice broke into her reverie, "shouldn't we greet our host?"

"Oh, Hi, Oliver," said Lois, slightly distantly, "Your staff has done wonders with the place."

"Thanks, Lois. We wanted to make the grand opening ball a special one."

As the night progressed, they spoke with most of Metropolis' richest and most influential, all of whom treated them with a certain measure of respect, knowing they might be the next target of their investigation.

"Lois, could you stop being "Mad Dog Lane" for one evening?" griped Clark, "you don't have your notebook or recorder, and this isn't a night for taking notes."

"A lot you know, Clark – Mr. Tradoff over there may be one of the Foundation's biggest donors, but he's on my list for his questionable investments, and there's evidence he's deeply in debt."

"Please, just enjoy the evening. Just this once. We'll deal with Bernie Tradoff later."

Oliver made a timely intervention: "Would you and Clark join me at the podium – you are the Planet's representatives to the Superman Foundation tonight, and our other sponsors, Bruce Wayne and Princess Diana from the Themysciran Embassy are here already."

Clark was dreading this – Bruce, Oliver and Diana certainly knew who he was, but he had to be here as Clark, not Superman, tonight. He didn't even have The Suit with him. A fateful decision.

As Oliver stepped to the microphone, a small phalanx of dark-clad, weapons toting men surrounded the podium, and announced that they were going to be the beneficiaries of tonight's pledges and collections. Surrounding the four disguised superheroes, they effectively rendered them powerless.

"Clark, aren't you going to do something?" Lois commented, sideways, under her breath.

"Wha- what can I do, Lois, throw a shoe at them? I'm not THAT kind of reporter!"

"Oh, please . . . Oliver – isn't there something a certain archer can do?"

"Wha?"

"C'mon, how stupid do you think I am? Tell me you have a mini-crossbow under there."

Bruce had been trying to reach someone on his cell phone, but the signal was jammed, even through his own Lucius Fox-derived tech base.

Diana, at least started trying to use her negotiation skills as an ambassador to talk to the intruders. By this point, they'd long since sealed the doors, and were happily collecting loot, jewels from the crowd.

. . . Diana, at least knew she was stalling.

In a moment, a red blur swept through the hall, and all the weapons disappeared. Following that, a golden lasso swept out, and corralled the robbers, forcing them together and worming the information about their leader and his location from them. No one quite questioned where Superman was – he was assumed to be performing heroic deeds elsewhere in the world – except Lois.

In desperation, one escaped capture, and headed toward Lois, gun in hand. Without thinking, Clark grabbed Lois and threw her behind him as the gunman fired. All Lois saw was the gun's flash, and Clark, not even slowing down as he picked up the gunman and threw him toward the group Diana had already tied up.

Something twigged in her memory.

The police finally arrived, and took the robbers away, and one-by-one people gave their statements to the officers. The chill night's breeze had picked up, and swept off the balcony causing Lois to shiver, and Clark to put his arm around her, protectively. She smelled a familiar smell, yet distant, and was comforted by his presence.

Things settled down for the evening, the TV news had their statements, and dinner was finally served.

Guided to their own special table, Lois' eyes widened at their setting. It looked . . . familiar, somehow. Clark was hoping it hadn't been too much.

They drank the champagne, and talked of inconsequentials . . .

"How's your mom, Clark? Will she take the Majority Leader's spot in the Senate in the next term?"

"She doesn't discuss that with her son the reporter, Lois – she wouldn't even touch it over Christmas dinner."

Bruce came by the table, "Good evening Mr. Kent, Ms. Lane – how are Metropolis' star reporters and when can I lure you over to the Gotham Gazette?"

"Just fine, Bruce – and even you don't have enough money!" quipped Lois.

"Lois! Be nice!" said Clark, "Bruce, we're fine, thanks. But Lois is right – we're both happy at The Planet. Be careful, or we'll be investigating you next." Lois giggled, and Bruce's eyes widened, and he walked away, shaking his head.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, as the lighting dimmed and effects sparkled around the room, and Clark reached over, and said "Miss Lane . . ." in a peculiarly-different and resonant voice.

Lois looked up, startled to hear "that" voice, and saw only Clark reaching toward her, and allowed herself to be maneuvered onto the dance floor.

Sweeping gently through the room in a graceful arc, there was no stumbling, no awkwardness between them. Lois settled into the strong curve of her partner's shoulders, realizing that he'd become much more than partners, and even, perhaps, more than friends. He'd been there in the difficult moments after Richard's acrimonious departure, not worried about her crush on Superman, or even Jason's parentage, which only he and Dr. Klein knew. (She'd HAD to tell someone).

Clark absorbed the touch of her – the sparkle in her eyes, the soft scent of her hair, the curve of her ears, and wanted to cherish each moment, each bit of the whole.

First Clark, then Bruce, then Ollie . . . Lois even danced with Perry and Gil and Grizzly Lombard. She very carefully re-aimed Lombard in the direction of Cat Grant, who palmed him off on Linda Lake.

But always, she returned to Clark. Sweet, constant, loving, adoring Clark. She realized just how much she'd come to depend on him, even over and above . . . that other guy.

As midnight approached, and people moved out onto the terrace to watch the fireworks over the Bay, Clark guided Lois away from the rest, to a private little corner.

All the evening had worked together in Lois's mind: shimmering draped fabric, champagne, birds of paradise, and bullets not striking . . . something hovered just behind silvery drapes in her memory . . .

His own heart thudding in his ears, as the fateful moment approached, and the fireworks went off, he turned to Lois and bent to kiss her . . . and then, before she could object, hugged her close around the waist, and lifted her gently off the ground. She was stunned enough she didn't notice at first, and behind where everyone stared over the bay, they rose into the night sky.

"Clark!! What's happening?!?!?" Clark??? Ohhh . . ."

Kal-El slowly removed his glasses as they rose to the top of the tower and a small observation platform only he could have reached. They stopped, and stood holding each others' hands.

"Lois . . . I've needed to tell you for a long time."

"Tell me what? . . . Oh. . . . That. Um, . . . no you didn't."

"I didn't?"

"I think I'd figured it out shortly after you 'both' came back – that was too much of a coincidence. And then Richard made the joke, and I pooh-poohed him, but the idea wouldn't go away. Then Jason took to you so well and I started looking at the two of your together."

"Oh.

"Yeah. Oh."

"But I didn't want to . . ."

" . . .endanger us. Yeah, I figured that out. I had put the whole thing out of mind and refused to think about it. Then tonight happened."

"Yeah . . . about that. I didn't even bring The Suit. I figured this one was too well-tailored."

"You look good Clark."

"Thanks."

They sat for a moment, in companionable silence, in their shaded platform, watching the fireworks, and feeling them build between them.

Clark was about to turn to Lois, then:

"Clark?"

"Yeah?" Lois stood up, turned to him, kicked off her shoes, pulled up her dress, and dropped to one knee before him.

"Wha' . . .?"

"Shut UP, Smallville – I'm trying to be liberated, here!"

She looked up – sparkling eyes misted with tears staring into star-born blue orbs, as he lifted her up.

"Shhh . . . we stand together, or not at all, my love." He said, meaning every loaded word. He pulled a brilliant ring out of his pocket . . .

"Then," said Lois, gathering her shuddering courage, "Clark Jerome Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha, AND Kal-El, son of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van: will both of you marry me?"

. . . the peak of the display went on unnoticed by the occupants of the tower's highest platform, who were determined never to be alone again.


End file.
